


A Cruel Solution

by Void_senpai



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Bickering, F/M, Hate Sex, Seduction, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, early TWK, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Void_senpai/pseuds/Void_senpai
Summary: Unhappy with his new title, the High King is doing everything in his power to make Jude's job harder.Jude decides to fight back by exploiting his one weakness: herself.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 57
Kudos: 407





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, I did it again. I started writing a OS and it turned into a thing. Jude knowing that he wanted her but not exploiting that while they were enemies was such a missed opportunity, IMO. So now I have to make her be mean to him. Forgive me, father.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?  
> When at your hands did I deserve such scorn?  
> Is’t not enough, is’t not enough, young man,  
> That I did never, no, nor never can,  
> Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius’ eye,  
> But you must flout my insufficiency?
> 
> Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth,  
> You do in such disdainful manner me to woo  
> But fare you well; I must confess  
> I thought you a lord of more true gentleness
> 
> Helena - A Midsummer Night's Dream

I tricked a prince into becoming king. The consequences of my actions would be sprawling, immeasurable, and unbound by time or place. Though a winding path to the power I sought was laid out in front of me, it remained obscured by fog and doubt. So little time had passed since mere knighthood was my heart’s greatest desire, and now look at me: A spy. A kingmaker. A killer. I stood in the middle of a web of my own making. A spider does not stick or become entangled in the silk threads. It’s too clever to be caught by its own trap. As great as my ambition was, and my successes thus far, I was not yet so confident that I had become a spider.

The worst was yet to come. I knew it. Cardan knew it. The court knew it too, though they couldn’t be bothered to care, so long as there was enough debauchery to go around. Despite this knowledge, I delighted in using my newfound power. The rush of even tiny victories was intoxicating, little slights, little commands, even just holding my head high in the face of those who made me the object of scorn for most of my life. As was uttered before in the Court of Shadows, the game was already set.

_“You may have my obedience, dear Jude, but you will not have my cooperation.”_

A promise that he fully intended to keep, it appeared. If I was going to puppet him, then he was going to do his damnedest to as difficult as possible. A near-permanent scowl adorned his face, only occasionally replaced by a sneer. Reports and petitions went completely ignored, the assumption being that I would be forced to carry the entire load. Or I would break under it, either of which would work for him. As tempted as I was to tighten the leash on this beast, it was becoming increasingly clear that I had something on him, and it was better to avoid anything that would encourage further interest or speculation on the matter.

My predicament called for a weapon that was more nuanced, more inclined to secrecy itself. Something that he would never admit to, even at knifepoint. Something wicked.

And then it came to me, like a gift from heaven--or perhaps much further below.

One in an endless parade of feasts which--as seneschal-- I was expected to attend, though “expected” and “welcome” were certainly not synonymous in this case. He was drunk, silly, and resistant to any attempts to curb his behavior. After reaching my limit for his foolishness, I decided he had reached his, and stood and leaned across him to take his cup away, needing to swat at it a moment before I could grasp it. There were only the first few syllables of his protest when he stilled and suddenly went silent. When I turned my head to look at him, his pupils were blown out and he was breathing carefully. Staring through his wine-soaked haze at what was barely a foot from his face.

The bodice of my dress.

The dress with a deep, v-shaped neckline that went halfway to my navel.

Bingo.

After a particularly trying day, I found Cardan in his chambers, seated by the fire in an armchair of buttery-soft fawn’s leather with a cup of wine. He was leaning crookedly against the arm, his expression vacant but for the twinge of irritation and boredom at the advisor, who was currently prattling on about something I couldn’t quite make out. The latter froze when he saw me, giving a short bow to the new High King before taking his leave.

“Whatever it is, I’m busy,” said Cardan, swirling the amber liquid around. I made my way to the velvet divan opposite him and sank into it.

“Yes, getting drunk and making an ass of yourself all day seems to take up so much of your time,” I replied in a dry tone. “It must be so very taxing.”

“I’m not drunk yet, though it isn’t for lack of trying.” He looked into the cup and frowned, downing whatever was left before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. “Another horribly dull day surrounded by duller people hounding me with dull things. If this is what the next year is going to be like, then I may borrow one of your daggers and put myself out of my misery.” A recent fantasy of mine and a good idea, were it not Oak who would need to succeed him.

“I will play your requiem on the world’s smallest violin,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Be grateful that your job only requires you to listen. I still have to actually run the damn country.”

“Which is more than some mortal should ever have even come close to. If I weren’t in your service, I would have had you thrown in the dungeons. Perhaps I will, once this is all over.” Another haughty smile, the flames from the fireplace reflected in his eyes. I kicked off my leather slippers, and he eyed my bare feet irritably. “Oh, do make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks, I think I will.”

“Filthy, arrogant mortal,” he muttered under his breath, taking another gulp of wine. “Did you have a reason for coming here, other than bothering me?” Originally, I did. There were a number of matters that I needed to inform him of, though keeping him in the loop was really more of a courtesy than a necessity.

“I _was_ coming to fill you in on some new information I’ve gathered before the meeting tomorrow, but given your poor attitude, I thought, ‘Why choose?’” 

“Don’t bother,” he said tonelessly. I sat up, pulling the pins from my hair, shaking it loose and letting it fall to my waist in soft waves. I saw him watching me carefully, his eyes trailing down from the crown of my head. It was the same look he gave whenever my hand traveled towards my dagger. Uncertainty. Tension. It was so refreshing to have him on the defensive for a change. I rose, padding slowly over to the table beside him and plucked the cup from his hand.

“Pouring me wine like a proper servant?” he asked as I filled it again. His smirk faded and mine rose.

“You forget who is serving who,” I said. I tried a sip. I never cared for wine, but the fine ones afforded to the king were certainly better than the poisons I’d been dosing myself with. If I was going to make this work, I would need to loosen up a little anyhow. Taryn had far more experience playing the honeypot than I did. He scowled.

“And you forget yourself.”

“How could I when you remind me so frequently?” I hovered there, feeling the warm fire on my backside, watching as his curiosity grew. “‘Filthy.’ “Lowly.’” I shook my head. “If I am so far below you, then it follows that there are no methods I could employ that would be beneath my dignity, wouldn’t you agree?” He must have been tipsy by this point. His gaze was less inhibited, traveling up my arms to my chest. He was flushed, though whether it was from the wine or my intentionally close proximity I wasn’t sure. There was undoubtedly a bit of color in my own cheeks, and though the dim light would normally conceal it, it would remain visible to immortal eyes. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps it would be to my advantage.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, righting himself and beginning to stand. “Your missives can wait until tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

“Sit down,” I said, firm but impassive. He fell back down into the chair as if he had been pushed. Jaw clenched, he glared back up at me. I couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think it can wait. I’m sure you’ll find some way to weasel out of doing your job by this time tomorrow.” My blood was pulsing fast in my veins. What a rush. While my plan was primarily motivated by petty revenge, there was a part of me, one that I hated to acknowledge, that was going to enjoy this for a far different reason. “I think I’ve figured out a way to make you pay attention.” He scoffed, but my next move slapped it right off his face.

Wine in hand, I climbed onto his lap, swinging my legs over the wide arm of the chair where his elbow once rested. I watched with pure delight as his eyes grew to the size of saucers. I struggled to swallow a malicious giggle that was forming in my throat. In its place, the barest hint of a smile laced with poison.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

“Hmmm…Perhaps there is something wrong with your hearing.” I traced the point of his ear with my fingertip, relishing the shiver than immediately ran down his spine. “I _said_ that I was going to make you pay attention.” I was keenly aware of the fact that I had just draped myself on top of the boy I despised, my mouth mere inches from his jaw, compelling him to simply sit there and take it. 

How cruel to make sport of his desire for me. How perfectly so. Were it anyone else in the world but him, I might have felt a little guilty. But this was Cardan Greenbriar, the vicious idiot who tormented me for years for his own amusement, the one who took advantage of my mortal weaknesses to make me miserable. There were no “feelings” towards me to take advantage of, no trampling on someone’s heart the way Locke did to me, or Nicasia did to Cardan. I was merely a shameful source of lust, and it was my turn to make his weakness an even greater source of misery.

“And what makes you think that will work?” he asked stiffly. There was one problem in particular that was making it increasingly difficult for me to get comfortable.

“Well, it seems very effective in at least one regard.” I shifted in his lap with very obvious intent, making his breath hitch. From my position, it seemed that the very thin fabric of his pants was growing more strained by the second. He jerked his face away to hide the deeper shade of pink that now colored his face. I was well aware of the heavy shame that his attraction caused him, and how terribly he bore it. 

It shouldn’t have stung. I’d almost become numb to his general disdain for me, and my position dissolved much of the fear of him that I once had. But his revulsion struck me somewhere else, somewhere that felt more personal, and I found that just as shameful. Better that I stoke that fire in Cardan and allow him to torture himself over it. Maybe that would cool the heat that was now pooling in my own stomach. 

My arm slid around his shoulders, his dark, silky curls brushing against my fingers as it passed. After our kiss, I couldn’t help but wonder if he would continue to defy it, or if his resolve would collapse. Did I want it to? I was almost afraid to find out what would happen. Or excited. With a final sip, I set the cup aside, far from his reach. Slowly, gently, I guided his chin back towards me, wondering all the while what I would find when he faced me again. His jaw was set, his dark eyes avoiding mine, and his condition completely unabated. I hated to admit it, but he was a very handsome boy when he wasn’t scowling or sneering. In this state, more soft and ragged and naked than he would normally ever allow, I couldn’t help but find him ...cute? I instantly chastised myself for it. Only a moron steps into their own trap. 

I held him there, my hand still under his chin, my lips so close that I could almost taste the wine on his hastened breath. He swallowed thickly. I wondered when he feared me more: When my knife was at his throat or my lips. My eyelids grew just as heavy as I felt his pulse galloping under my fingers. I didn’t just want to torture him; I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to press myself against him, let his hands wander under my bodice, feel my lips swell from the impact of his mouth on mine. But this was business. It was in everyone’s best interest that I resist temptation. It shouldn’t have been a temptation.

Finally, he looked up at me, caught in a haze. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from my lips.

“Why?” he croaked. I had never heard anything quite as arousing as that one, pitiful noise, and I hated it. I’d locked us into a game of chicken that only I was supposed to win. If only I could unravel the tension twisting even tighter inside me. That’s when my nerve began to disappear. Instead of answering, I shook my head and held fast to the smug expression that I knew would infuriate him as I rose. I promised myself that I wouldn’t look down. I was past the point of convincing myself that it would only be to help gauge the success of this sadistic mission. It was my own depraved curiosity.

Instead, I took one last look at his face. He was fixing me with a sharp glare, his nails still digging into the armrests. And yet, his mouth betrayed confusion and deep, deep frustration. If this worked, it could pay dividends.

I tipped my head towards the sofa and the stack of papers I had brought before.

“News from the Unseelie Court,” I said, ignoring his question.

_Don’t look back. Don’t look back._

“You should turn in soon. I’ll see you at sunset.”

I slammed the door behind me. Shoes in hand, I scurried back to my chambers, and for the first time since the coronation, I wondered just what the hell I’d gotten myself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, why rebuke you him that loves you so?  
> Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
> 
> Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse.  
> For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
> 
> -A Midsummer Night's Dream

I barely slept.

One voice in my head was furiously scolding me for what I had done. There would be no putting this genie back in the bottle. It wasn’t necessarily that I feared retaliation. I was already very familiar with his usual book of tricks.

Another voice, one that I rarely allowed to speak at all, would rather that my bedsheets become my burial shroud. “Seductive,” or my very loose approximation of it, was definitely  _ not _ part of my political repertoire. My performance drew from few sources and even less experience. Locke’s low, honeyed voice in my ear, thick and sweet and like a glamour all on its own. Nicasia and the other court girls, their subtle touches, their teasing proximity and, when the mood struck them, outright boldness.

But the loudest voice was the one that truly kept me from sleep, that conjured that sensation of falling off the bed and made my eyes fly open when I was only moments from rest.

I may have to do it again.

Conflicted was a gross understatement of my feelings. Perhaps it worked. It was possible, though not likely, that I would walk into the war room to find Cardan had beaten me there, hands folded neatly in his lap and listening carefully to his elders. The depth of his loathing might very well be enough to tame him.

Or, I may find his teeth bared and jaws snapping, all too eager to pay me back for reminding him of the one thing he tried the hardest to forget. And so I would have to devise some new torture, feeling awkward and obvious and woefully unpracticed, to spite him with. The crack of a whip I’d never held in my hand. 

For all my inadequacy, I liked it. I liked seeing his cruel mouth contort from condescension to that glorious heated apprehension, the same look he gave me in the seconds before I kissed him. Completely and totally at my mercy, and I seldom felt merciful. That twisted sort of pleasure I derived did not exist in a vacuum. Unwanted desire was its constant companion, and I was aware that any single moment of weakness could knock me from my lofty perch and send me tumbling back down into the dirt. I could not, would not, let my heart—or any other organs—become entangled with Cardan Greenbriar. 

When I arrived at the meeting, he was nowhere to be seen, and I was the only one who was surprised. After a time, he found his way inside, hastily waving away the bows and “your Highnesses” before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. He must have woken only recently, his shirt mostly unbuttoned. More interestingly, his tail, which was usually stored away, was out. That bored, blank slate remained, but I felt his eyes flicker over to me more than once. The tufted tip of his tail peeked over the table’s edge, swaying back and forth like a cat’s. As if he could fool me.

_ Focus, Jude. _

“...I believe that would be an excellent project for her to take on.” My attention suddenly snapped back to the present at the sound of Cardan’s voice. “My dear seneschal does excel at deal-making. I’m sure she would make the time.” 

“I’m sorry, for what exactly am I being volunteered?” The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement as he watched me struggle to recover.

“Some courts are less...amenable to the recent shift in power at the High Court,” one gray-bearded male suggested. “We anticipate that their fealty will require much more personal attention than the others. We were hoping for additional assistance.”

_ That brat. _

“Of course,” I replied evenly. No one should see how deep the fissures in our partnership ran, or it would be only too easy to use it as a bludgeon. Divide and conquer. This would have to be dealt with privately.

“It’s settled then.” Cardan clapped his hands together and stood. “Now, if there is nothing else to discuss, then I will be going.”

* * *

The score was now one-to-one. More work for me and a healthy dose of humiliation for the king. It could not be a truce, so it would remain a stalemate. 

Except that these still waters were making me itch in all the wrong ways. There was no denying the thrill it gave me to humble him. Even if it had otherwise been a total failure, having him at my mercy--hell, even merely the burst of color in his moon-pale cheeks--was its own reward. I returned to my chambers that night almost giddy, better than the euphoria of faerie fruit and not so fleeting. 

But perhaps more dangerous to a mortal.

And then there was the other benefit to this method, or drawback, depending upon the current state of my self-discipline: My body craved it. I had not forgotten the effect that our kiss had on me, nor the softness of his skin under my fingertips, nor the sounds he tried to suppress, and especially not the feeling of him hardening underneath me. Much like everything else for humans in Faerie, it was highly addictive. Power and pleasure was a heady cocktail, and I wanted another sip. 

To their delight, I gave the servants free-reign over my appearance at the next feast. I’d endured their moaning about my “unflattering” choices long enough, and who better to make me more appealing to the folk than the folk themselves? After vetoing outright nudity with yearly salaries worth of jewels, I settled on a delicate gown of pale lilac chiffon that clung to my curves and left my shoulders bare. With blackberries staining my lips into a delicious red, I prepared myself for an evening of getting exactly what I wanted.

No one would ever mistake me for a subtle person. Yet, though I made a conscious effort, I was certain that the pixies and fawns around us—were they sober, that is—would assume that Cardan and I had already done something lewd. I held every glance he gave me, smiled at every glint of suspicion. This did not escape Nicasia’s notice. True to her nature, she discovered a way to douse the front of my gown in amber wine, somehow forgetting what happens when thin layers of chiffon become wet. Once I overcame my embarrassment at the sudden exposure, the schemer, the spy within, sought to make good use of it.

I reclined in my chair, no longer inclined to hide my predicament from him. I must have gone completely insane.

“Your new Master of Revels has proven himself worthy of the job, Your Highness.”

_ Look at me. _

“I suppose you expect me to applaud you, then,” he replied, observing the rest of the room with marked disinterest. Everything and everyone but me. “You were quite insistent.”

_ Look at me, damn you. _

I plucked ripe cherry by its stem from the platter in front of us and turned it over in my fingers.

“And you will get the credit for it. Perhaps you’ll learn to listen to me before I have to deploy... _ other _ methods of persuasion.” The skin popped between my teeth as I stared him dead in the face, its juice dripping slowly from my lips to my chin.

That caught his attention.

His obsidian eyes met my challenge, and though his mask remained unchanged, the knuckles around the stem of his goblet were turning white. I sucked the excess from its ruby flesh and finished the rest in one bite. I could see the regret bubbling to the surface as his gaze wandered down my neck to the sheer fabric that no longer concealed my chest, and instantly darted away again.

The music slowed from the lively tune that had turned the attendees rowdy to something more dignified, less likely to catch me in a raucous whirlpool from which they would never let me escape. Something I used to dance with Taryn before everything went so horribly wrong. His fingers ceased their drumming, and he pulled away from the table. To my surprise, he offered his hand.

“Dance with me.” Eyeing him warily, I remained seated. “You’re fond of this dance, aren’t you?”

He waited. I may have issued the challenge, but he had decided on the location. 

“Yes, I am.”

Curiosity overruled any alarms that might have been ringing in my mind, and I rose to accept. I was swiftly whisked away with barely enough time to see the equally curious looks from nearby fae. No sooner were we gliding around the mossy floor, his hand firmly around my waist, than I felt his hot breath in my ear.

“Whatever this game of yours is, I’ve grown very tired of it.”

My heart skipped a beat. No, I could show no signs of fear or intimidation. It would only feed him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Then why do you blush?” he purred. “Why do I hear your pulse?”

“Your imagination is running away with you.”

“Not yet. You’ve left very little for me to imagine.” To my chagrin, my blush deepened. I could hear that self-satisfied smirk coloring his voice, and soon realized that the room was colder than I remembered. Even worse.

“There’s nothing afoot,” I said, trying to recover my composure. But goosebumps still sprouted on my skin.

“You’re lying.”

“Too bad that you’ll never know for sure.”

That granted me a moment to think. I surveyed the room from over his shoulder and found Taryn, nose-to-nose with Locke and giggling. How could my own sister be taken in by one of them, and then take him back?

“Ah, I see.” Cardan interrupted my thoughts. “Perhaps I should ask Locke instead. Tell me, has your dear sister decided to share him with you? Was he that good?”

“Jealousy doesn’t become you.” He scoffed.

“I am an  _ object _ of jealousy, Jude. And an underserved victim of your many whims.”

“My ‘whims’?” His face grew hard, less the spiteful charm from before and more the deep-seated anger that lurked below like magma.

“What else would you call your little performance that night? You held me captive,  _ commanded me _ , for what, exactly? Either it was some passing fancy bent on vexing me purely for your own pleasure, in which case I am right, or it was premeditated. And in that case, I want to know for what other purpose you would abuse our agreement than as part of one of your many tangled webs.”

“You’re being very dramatic,” I replied coolly. “And I did not use my power for any reason other than to help you maintain yours.”

“So it  _ was _ premeditated,” he snapped. “Holding me there for whatever sick little--” He stopped, shaking his head bitterly and unable to finish.

But the Folk are all about loopholes, aren’t they? Turn of phrase and dancing around the truth to suit their needs. They did not invent that game, and I was all too familiar with its rules. Since he chose to defy me again, I would twist the blade. A point needed to be made.

“Let me show you something.” 

We stopped spinning and I dropped his hand, gesturing to the dais at the end of the room. Though highly suspicious, he followed. The absence of his hand in mine, his grip soft and gentle despite the anger I had summoned within him, felt wrong. If I had not reminded myself to drop it, I may have led him along like a child, or a lover. His eyes narrowed.

“What is this?”

“Sit,” I repeated, and he dropped onto his throne with a snarl, its branches twisting into thorns and brambles. My hand instinctively on my dagger, I strolled over to him, steeling myself for the next move.

Here we were again. Cardan Greenbriar forced into a chair, Jude Duarte gazing down at him with her knife in hand and her mouth perilously close to his. I held myself there longer than I should have. His kohl-lined eyes stared back at me, filled with the heat of scorn and desire, the two locked in battle with one another. Once his lips parted, wet and warm and far too inviting, I knew which had won. I leaned over him, just the faintest whisper of that cherry stain brushing against his bottom lip, and I swore I heard him whimper. It took every remaining drop of self-control to keep me from finally giving in to the trance I had lulled him into. 

“You see,” I murmured, my heart thundering in my chest. “I only commanded you to sit. I never specified for how long.” He was suddenly no longer distracted by my position, instead pulling back, his eyes popping open as realization struck. “You were free to stand and leave whenever you wished.”

Dismayed, he searched my face for some evidence of a lie. But when there was none to be found, he jerked up from his seat, red and utterly seething, and stormed out. His tail thrashed behind him as he disappeared from my sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His jab about Locke might have just given Jude an idea. I love petty revenge.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you like this story, please validate my existence in the comments.
> 
> EDIT: Fine, you gremlins. You'll get some Cardan POV soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaping jest upon jest with such impossible conveyance that I stood there,  
> Like a man at a mark with a whole army shooting at me.
> 
> She speaks poinards, and every word stabs.
> 
> -Benedick, Much Ado About Nothing

An unwelcome memory plagued me since the feast.

My demonstration was successful, at least in that I was satisfied by the impotent--or perhaps not so impotent, if memory served--wrath and embarrassment it provoked. Further confirmation of the truth, a fact that I carried with me everywhere like a good-luck charm in my pocket: He wanted me. Badly. And he hated us both for it. Finally, something I could hold over him even without a magical contract. Something that would keep me laughing until they lowered me into my grave.

But for a split second, there was pain. Not aggravation or humiliation. Just pain. 

First, I decided that I’d imagined it, or that I misread his face. If that was wrong, then I must have struck a nerve. My resolve faltered a step. When this ridiculous method first sprung into my head, the only pain I planned to cause would be from tightening pants and a wounded ego. 

But who could deny that he had earned the pain of my mockery? For everything he had done to me and to my sister, even a civil word from me was an act of charity. My dearest wish was that he spent his nights thinking of me, tossing and turning as his dreams were haunted by the mortal girl that he hated and wanted in equal measure.

~~*~~

I stood in the throne room, alone but for the dozens of restless folk, noble and peasant alike, waiting. He was late. Again.

I entered his room with all the tact of a charging bull. How dare he. Of all the responsibilities he routinely shirked, making an appearance once a week to actually rule was easily the worst, and that was the very last time I would be blindsided by this boy in front of dozens of creatures who had as much respect for me as for the mud on their shoes.

“Rise and shine, Your Highness,” I barked, tearing open the drapes covering the massive windows of his bedchamber to reveal the setting sun. A rustling of sheets came from behind me, followed by a low groan that was most definitely not Cardan’s.

“Oh, send her away, will you?”

A faerie boy with dappled skin and tumbled autumn hair stretched and rolled over. A rosy pixie wound her arm around the waist of the naked king beside her, her unsettling black eyes thankfully still closed and therefore unable to see me frozen in place.

“It’s too early,” she yawned, pressing a kiss to Cardan’s shoulder.

“Cardan, you need to get up _now_ ,” I warned shakily, trying to ignore what I already knew but what I really, really didn’t want to see.

“I’m sure she will go away on her own.” The king sounded completely unfazed, lying motionless on his stomach in the middle of the bed, his voice somewhat muffled by a pillow.

“Cardan.”

“Any moment now.”

“You’re late!” I huffed. With a grunt, he sat up and looked at me, the annoyance in his fae features making him look distinctly catlike. My eyes slipped down the pale expanse of his chest and stomach until I remembered that he was completely naked.

_Eyes up._

“G-get dressed now,” I said, hurling a shirt at him. “You have petitioners waiting.”

I did not await for acknowledgement, marching out much the same as I came. It was far more important that I keep up my momentum and not dwell on how much of the king I’d just beheld. Or his sleepy pout and tousled curls. Or his...guests.

I was well aware of the sounds that came from the king’s chambers. Moans, screams, laughter, all in the sweet, birdlike trilling of fae voices echoing through the halls at all hours of the day or night. They grew more frequent with every passing day since my first attack. A warning to stay away, perhaps, like a rattlesnake. Or, more likely, a hearty fuck-you to his favorite seneschal. 

I should have been accustomed to that sort of thing. I thought I was. The fae did not share the same ideas of modesty and discretion as humans, which I’m sure they had their uniformly perfect bodies to thank. It should have been just another hindrance, another entry in the growing list of things he was doing instead of his duty, but I had the sneaking suspicion that was not the chief source of my frustration. 

Cardan had been avoiding me. I didn’t know why I should care that he preferred the company of whoever wandered into his bed that night, like an insect into the gaping jaws of a flytrap. Not that I could necessarily blame them for wanting a night with the king. That vulgar interest surfaced again, wondering if his revolving door of guests was folk clamoring for a taste of a king, groupies to a rock star, or if he was so sought after for his prowess.

Another mental smack to the wrist. Now I was more flustered than before. And who should I pass as I retreated from the royal chambers but Locke, who—based on the knowing smile he gave as I passed—knew immediately what had just occurred.

Oh, right. Locke.

In a bid to hold my ground against him in another verbal sparring match, I had forgotten that Cardan never denied my accusation. And if he believed that his jab about Locke would strike the broken heart of a lovelorn maiden, he was sorely mistaken. Strangely obtuse, even. Locke _was_ skilled, from what I had to go on. That much was correct. However, I was far more interested in stabbing him than letting him stab me. But there was no need for the king to know any of that. In fact, it gave me an idea.

* * *

For all my efforts, I remained in an ill humor. There was still a pounding in my head from the evening before and the rude awakening by my seneschal at the crack of dusk. In truth, the scale and frequency of these revels was growing tedious. Once, I could lose myself in it, my name and title as meaningless as my obligations. There was a time I could distance myself from that girl and keep my unwanted thoughts to a minimum. But I was merely a forgotten prince then, not needed nor heeded. I nearly escaped it all forever, had I not made the fatal mistake of letting my feelings cloud my judgement. Clearly, I had learned nothing.

As I sank back into my old refuges, namely avoiding sobriety and solitude, I discovered that they were losing their effectiveness. This wine certainly wasn’t. Already the edges on the world were becoming smoother and less offensive to my senses. And I might have eased into a comfortable numbness had I not spotted Jude far away on the other side of the green. Her soft tresses fell loosely around her, the red hinting at the fire within. She wore the dress I secretly sent her so long ago.

 _She has been looking far too beautiful as of late_.

I wholly resented it. It was wearing me down slowly, driving me to madness with meticulous care. Something had changed. It was unclear what, and had I my full faculties, I might have not been so willing to puzzle it out. What truly roused me from my brooding was something else entirely, a strange sound that fluttered above the partygoers heads like a cluster of sprites to my superior ear.

Some brainless fawn boy, stumbling from wine and fatigue, was making her laugh. A real laugh, not the mirthless chuffs she reserved for me. How was it that this was all it took? It wasn’t, of course. Knowing Jude, it must be another one of her designs. But it looked so real.

And he kissed her.

The friction between her falsehoods and the small truths that slipped out made my head ache. My kingdom for just the smallest glimpse inside her mind, where she could conceal nothing from me. One look so that I might know if her thoughts of me were anything other than contempt. Was I so blinded by my affliction that I believed for a moment that she might want me? If I were to delve into the dark waters of Jude’s consciousness, then I would have to begin with my own, and I was certain I would not like what I found there. I might prefer that all the foulest creatures of the Undersea simply drag me to the bottom.

And then she kissed him back.

As if he cared for her any more than Locke did. Sowing mischief, or trying to curry favor, or even just the right to boast that he bedded the most powerful mortal in Faerie. Turning my attention away, I snapped for more wine and let the burgundy liquid flow down my chin to my chest as I emptied my cup once again. One more foolish glance at my adversary, swiping an errant droplet of wine from my collarbone to lick it off my finger. Oh, how I would have loved to taste that spilled wine on her skin, to finally shove her into a dark alcove, drop the pretense of that flimsy gown, and lick every drop clinging to her breasts. 

I let out a bitter sound and shook my head. I could have anyone here that I wanted. Anyone at all.

_. And yet she finds you so repulsive that she can torture you without remorse, like a worm on a twig._

“You are a pathetic drunk,” I mumbled ruefully to myself, snatching the bottle from the steward’s hands and raising it directly to my mouth. That seemed to be the path I was walking tonight. I sipped and watched my subjects dancing with feigned interest. Someone tugged at my sleeve.

“Cardan,” came Nicasia’s cool voice, set into a high-pitched whine that grated on my nerves. “Stop being a bore and come dance.”

I had no stomach for it, and somehow the wine had only further soured my mood. Still, it was easier to look upon the girl who smiled at me and begged my company than my dear Lady Disdain. So I conjured a smile for them and vowed not to look her way again.

I failed. I lost track of the time, but eventually my gaze wandered, as if by instinct, and she was gone. The fawn boy remained, but any relief that might have granted was dashed when I spotted a sweep of auburn waves and an embroidered train disappearing deeper into the maze, the Master of Revels in tow.

Trapped in the whirlpool of reeling folk, there was little to do but fume in silence. When I delivered that barb at the feast, I had no reason to believe there was any merit to it. Or I hoped, that is. Would she really go back to him, or had their little tête-à-tête never truly ended? Was she still in love with him? I couldn’t imagine that she would even have good reason to _like_ him. Even I was finding that difficult lately.

The wine finally took the reins from my hand and guided me into the maze, the music growing dimmer as I followed the faint sounds of feminine giggling and rustling leaves. Then grunts and soft keening over labored breaths. Gritting my teeth, I stood flush with the shrub to peek at the dreaded source just around the corner.

I froze. Her skirts were hiked up about her waist, her legs wrapped around Locke’s waist and her mouth adhered to his as he held her against the trunk of a tall oak. I watched them, wanting to bottle the delicious sounds spilling from her mouth while hating every second of it. I had discovered too late that this was a secret better kept from me.

“I never took you for a voyeur.”

Jude stood behind me, wearing a close-fitting dress of dark green velvet and a malevolent smile that would surely spell more trouble for me. Brow knitted in confusion, my gaze darted back to the other spectacle, then back to her. 

“You’re awfully far from the festivities. Were you looking for someone?” she prodded with mock innocence, trying to force an answer when she knew I could not lie. She wished to watch me squirm.

“I saw Locke enter the maze and I followed,” I replied carefully. “I did not know what I would find.” A single look of pure incredulity was all I received for my efforts. She leaned against the hedge.

“So you really believed it then, didn’t you? Were you worried I was so lovesick that I would betray my sister to go back to such a monstrous ass? I’m not sure if I should feel touched or insulted.” Warmth flowed to my face. I could not answer that. She pushed away, poised to leave already.

Already? No, I wanted her gone from my sight.

“No need to worry.” Her voice was casual and decisive, but her fingers flexed and twisted at her side like a pile of snakes. “I’m in as much danger of falling into Locke’s arms again as I am yours.”

The words struck me square in the chest. It stung. More than stung. It hurt more than an injury to my pride had any right to. A shot straight and true, hitting its target with such dizzying precision that there could be no doubt about her intentions. She was always the better archer.

But then her eyes widened, just quickly enough to miss, as if she were surprised by her own words, before turning away sharply to leave. More lies? More acting? Then I recalled her redness and stammering when she found me abed with that boy and his pixie friend. Even as a passive attempt to draw her ire the way she had mine, it seemed to fail. So it wasn’t just human prudishness that made her avert her eyes? 

“Liar!”

She blinked back at me, bewildered. I took her by the wrist.

“You may be the Queen of Shadows, but you are not so good an actress that you can fool me again.”

Her kiss once cut the truth from my chest better than a knife or the point of her crossbow. Had my wits not been so frayed at the time, I might have paid better attention to what it said back to me. Despite all she said to the contrary, I believed there was some part of her, though I knew not how small, that wanted me. And in a moment of foolishness, I surrendered to my need for enlightenment.

In a single stride, I stood before her, swiftly guiding her mouth onto mine. Her hand flew to her dagger, but stayed and left it in its sheath, even as my arms wrapped around her to press against me by the small of her back. A soft throb of pressure rippled between our joined hips. After a mouselike squeak of surprise, the tension in her body lifted, and she returned the kiss.

I did not appreciate it thoroughly enough the first time. I could have catalogued each tiny piece of her as better kindling for my fantasies. I was not convinced that I would be alive long enough to ever tend to those fires again, though now I was aware that escaping a violent death at her hand for a second time was not a foregone conclusion.

As her touch grew more ardent, the world grew hazy, as if a thick fog had settled over my vision. Adrift at sea, her gasps the siren song luring me towards jagged rocks, but it was no use. A sharp bite to my lower lip was answered with a growl and a wet, hasty journey along her jaw so that I might finally devour the soft flesh of her throat. I had always wanted to know what she tasted like. Her hands became claws that roved my chest and stomach, searching in earnest for my spiking blood. My hands silently pleaded with her to put me out of my misery.

A hopeless endeavor. That sharp, murderous mouth was too sweet, her body too soft and reactive to my touch. Most alarming was my thirst for her, its depth an ever-unfolding revelation. One nip to my pulse tore a moan from my lungs that would have been utterly mortifying had I a clear head. Shameful. If only she would bind my hands again so I could have no say in the matter.

I surfaced for air, weak-kneed and breathless and completely lost to my senses. Brought to heel by whatever amative poison that seeped from her pores. Nose to mine, panting, her lips pink and swollen, her hand wound tightly in my hair, she looked at me. Unguarded. Questioning. _Wanting._

Which was worse? My terrible desires being reciprocated or rebuffed? How ironic that Jude was the only one in this kingdom who always refused to indulge my impulses. But her eyes had grown heavy, and with a sharp inhale, her hand began to draw my face closer.

A sudden jolt of nearby footfalls and laughter startled us apart. And like that, the spell was broken. One small interruption, the possibility of being discovered together like this, and the panic appeared to be setting in. She set back on her heel, looking around as if she were expecting an ambush.

“Jude--” 

I reached out for her, barely recognizing my own voice. And what else would I say, exactly? Would I ask her to stay? To kiss me again? To tumble in the grass with me in the vain hope that it would finally cure me? As if I didn’t already know the answer. Grabbing a fistfull each of her skirts, she backed away before dashing out of the maze.

So overwhelmed from wine and lust, I sat heavily on the ground, raking a hand through my hair with an equally heavy sigh. 

Jude. My vengeful goddess. My waking nightmare. Whatever may happen tomorrow, whatever she did or denied when the dust of this explosion settled, this was a decision she could not unmake. The memory of her heart hammering under her flushed chest, her back arching into me, the arousal that permeated her voice, would forever be seared into my memory. My intuition was correct.

And I would make her confess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, all this validation has backfired because now I’m starting to think I’m people. 
> 
> New plan: Please leave kudos but also spit on me and tell me I’m worthless.
> 
> EDIT: So I'm considering doing more Cardan POV in some future chapter(s) because I love doing boy POV's, but I'm not sure. Let me know what yall think in the comments or on my tumblr @your-void-senpai


	4. Chapter 4

This is what happens when you play with fire.

On some level, I understood it was arrogance that led me here. My winning streak had gone on for so long that for a moment, I almost believed I was one of them. Or rather, I believed that I was better than one of them, that I was always a step ahead, impervious to their tricks. How many mortals had fallen prey, though none to exactly the same ambition? They all became enslaved by their desire for faerie fruit and endless parties, not to topple a monarchy and then rebuild it to their taste. But this is what happens. I’d grown too comfortable in my position and decided to try something stronger and so much harder. At least in espionage, there is very little chance that you will betray yourself.

But that’s what I was. A traitor.

My heart did not begin its pounding when I fled the scene, and it did not stop until long after I crashed into my bed. I slept in my clothes. The mere concept of being naked set my teeth on edge. I could not trust anyone, not our court allies, not my own family, and not myself. I was taken in once before by Locke with only flattery and a skilled caress. Naïveté brought me to Locke. But Cardan? No, this was pure, unadulterated stupidity.

_Spiders don’t get caught in their own webs. And they definitely don’t offer the fly a taste of their blood._

It would be a lie to say that it was only my hubris that kept me awake that night. His dark scent still lingered in my hair and clothes, dragging me back to the maze again and again. Soaked through with perspiration and desire, with something wound up tightly in the pit of my stomach that refused to abate. It was white-hot and hungry and demanded my attention, but I refused to reach down and address it. To do so would be to make it real, and I would be forced to acknowledge why it was there and what I saw behind my eyelids when I found release. 

Exhaustion finally took me, but it did not offer sanctuary. In fact, it was much, much worse.

_“Mmm,” his low voice hummed in my ear, colored with bemusement. “Poor Jude.”_

_Looking down at myself, I discovered that I was completely naked. He sat behind me on my bed, holding me tightly in his lap with his nose just behind my ear, breathing me in. I didn’t know how we got here, but I knew that I needed his clothes off right now, to feel the searing skin of his chest pressing into my back, but I could not reach them. His arousal pressed against my backside, rock-hard and weeping through the fabric._

_And his hands were everywhere. One hand caressed and squeezed my breast, stopping to flick a thumb over my nipple whenever I wasn’t loud enough for his taste. The other, with its soft and nimble fingers, had journeyed further downward at a painfully slow pace. He seemed to delight in my whining and bucking hips, taunting me with a deep chuckle in his chest and his mouth on my earlobe._

_It was a fever, the kind that either broke early on or eventually killed you. I could barely think or breathe, wishing only he would have mercy on me, even though I had done nothing to deserve it. Eventually, curiosity overtook his enjoyment, and he allowed one long swipe along my core with his middle finger, making me gasp, and it came back drenched._

_“Oh, my. What a predicament you’re in.”_

_Every time I turned my head to catch his mouth on mine, he was gone, reappearing over my other shoulder. My need to kiss him was just as frustrating as all the other elements of my situation combined. He began small, feather-light strokes where I needed them the most, but steadfastly refused to kiss me. It was infuriating._

_“Please,” I rasped. I could feel his lips tighten into a smile against my shoulder. A firmer touch, a faster pace._

_“You’ve already lost, my sweet Jude.” A finger slipped inside me, and I bit my lip bloody. “But I can make it all better. I can free you from this agony.”_

“ **_Please_ ** . _” He shook his head, his hot breath seeping down my neck, and I shivered._

_“Say it,” he purred. “The truth. Three little words, Jude. That’s all I need.”_

I shot up in bed, wide awake and fully convinced I was having a heart attack. The other side of the bed was empty and the room was dark, but that gave me very little comfort. Even once my heartbeat began coasting to normal, nothing would soothe my mind. Weary and still shaking, I roused myself from my bed to find work to occupy myself while I avoided sleep.

I could not allow myself that weakness again, and whatever counterattacks he had planned for me, I would be ready. It would not happen again.

If he remembered that night in any detail, he didn’t show it. It was entirely possible that he was too far gone at the time to remember, that he had blacked out, or even that so much drink for so long had caused actual brain damage. One could only hope.

And I did. Earnestly. The whole thing had backfired so spectacularly that I wondered how much of the planning my brain had any part in. 

It seemed simple enough. An exchange of favors as putty to smooth over the cracks in sisterly affection. Taryn would wear my dress to court some willing nobody at a reliably safe distance from the king. Her fiancé’s infidelity was an open secret, and though the relationship itself was a terrible choice that she clung to for all the wrong reasons, we agreed that a spark of jealousy would reignite his interest. He didn’t care for sharing his toys.

“Stay within sight, but as far away as you can manage,” I instructed. An unnecessary precaution. Surely Cardan couldn’t tell the difference between us, or any mortal girl from another, for that matter.

She nodded firmly in understanding and graciously did not pry into what my angle was in all this. There was a time that we trusted each other with our secrets, but that time had long since passed. Speaking, yes, but on a need-to-know basis.

Though all was quiet on the front, my heart remained in my throat from the next morning on. From his audiences to our near-daily meetings with his advisors, the surface of that sea was still and smooth as glass. He scowled and sighed on cue, rolled his eyes at the advisors, and grunted in irritated confirmation when I instructed him to listen for whispers of Orlagh’s intentions. And yet, those dark, scheming eyes still fell heavily on me whenever mine were otherwise occupied. Perhaps the High King was better at this game than I gave him credit for.

~~*~~

“I have what you want.” 

My heart skipped a beat, and I whirled around. Cardan had slipped silently through the door to my chambers, which was lit only by a few candles and the last gasps of a dying fire. Behind me, no more than a few feet away, looking as neat as ever. It was easier to look on him like this, rather than with the mussed black curls and open shirt from before, looking so much like he had just risen from someone else’s bed. The sight would be as arresting as it was unwelcome, sure to haunt my nightmares once again.

“And what is that, exactly?” I asked mildly. He smirked.

“Forgive me, I should have been more specific. I forget that I do have quite a number of things you want.” My jaw tightened and my eyes narrowed. The folded bit of wrinkled paper in his hand landed on the desk. “Intelligence from the Undersea.”

None of it was good news, especially with Taryn’s wedding only days away, but it gave us time to concoct a plan.

Me. It would give _me_ time to concoct a plan. The details, though…

“Where did you get this?” I asked, gesturing with the paper in my hand. 

“The princess, obviously.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Where else did you think I would get it?”

The truth was that, even though it would be nonsensical, I had hoped Nicasia would be a last resort, both for tactical reasons and because her sneering and constant proximity to him was intolerable to watch, and only getting worse by the day. Ever-haughty and always watching me, as if she were in on some great secret that I was not privy to. And it appeared that she was. Though, if she finally had him again, then ‘triumphant’ might be a more fitting word. That moistened witch took special pleasure in reminding me of her position in his inner circle and his heart. There was no need to bother vocalizing it, because it was as blatantly apparent to her as it was to me: I would never come any closer than this. 

I shrugged.

“You know a lot of people,” I replied. “You would have found someone.”

“None as good as her.”

He was testing me, watching my expression carefully. This was part of his own scheme, though I did not know to what end. Just another dance between us. I step forward, he steps back. He turns left, I turn him to the right. Cardan wouldn’t take her back. He was too fixated on me to bother with a girl who left him for Locke. 

His gaze made me nervous enough that I turned my attention back to my desk, moving papers about as if I were actually looking for something and not hiding.

“I’m sure she’s very good,” I said pointedly. “You should have told me that was your preferred method of interrogation. We could have learned the deepest secrets of half the kingdom by now.” 

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, his mouth twisted into a mocking grin that made me want to punch him square in the jaw.

“I would say that jealousy does not become you, but alas, I cannot.” Now it was my turn to scoff. “A little kindness and a few kisses can work wonders. I suppose that would never occur to you though, would it?”

The addendum and the subtle edge in his voice felt as sharp as they sounded. Perhaps I deserved it. True, my upbringing best prepared me to deal in vinegar, not honey. If only I didn’t crave honey so badly.

“You might remember that I’ve never had that luxury. Madoc didn’t raise me to charm the folk or befriend them, because it’s a fool’s errand. He raised me to survive and to protect Taryn, and it worked. If they will not grant me basic decency on their terms, then I will take it on mine. I can’t wield your weapons, Cardan.”

When I glanced at him over my shoulder, his smirk was gone, replaced by knitted brows and lips parted to speak words that would die in his throat. But then the waters smoothed over once again. Expecting him to retreat to the numerous comforts of his own chambers, I looked away again and waited. But the aged hinges of the door remained as silent as his approaching footsteps. 

The prickling on the back of my neck always told me when someone was watching, preparing me for an incoming attack and allowing a precious few seconds to dodge and pull my weapon. But I already knew I was being watched, and I already knew an attack was imminent. So why did my reflexes fail me?

“It is never too late to learn.”

Every muscle tensed. A hitched breath stopped abruptly in my throat to brace me against the onslaught that was his warm, sweet-smelling breath combing through my hair to find my neck. His body was so close that I could feel the aura heat radiating off of him. If I took too deep a breath, we would meet, and there would be nothing to stop me from sinking into him like quicksand.

“And I’m a very good teacher.”

A lock of hair was brushed aside, sending goosebumps sprouting on my skin from head to toe. His nose was in my hair again, inhaling deeply with a hiss. Fingertips ghosted down my arms to where my own clutched the edge of the desk with white knuckles. It would be so easy to surrender to it. As easy as falling asleep. Though I shut my eyes, I did my very best not to remember.

_“Three little words, Jude.”_

“Just say the word,” he murmured. 

I pressed my lips together to stifle a gasp. Something was trailing up the bare calf beneath my skirt, like a paintbrush made of the softest fox pelt. Or an enchanted vine, snaking around the back of my knee and chasing little electric shocks up my thighs. My rational self prayed that he wouldn’t journey any further upward, lest he make a similar discovery in waking life. The rest of me waited for it with bated breath.

It was his tail. He’d slowly begun letting it loose over the last months to twitch and sway as it pleased, though it was generally behind closed doors.

But I hadn’t seen it in weeks. Not since the feast.

It wrapped around my heart as well, and squeezed.

_Oh, no._

I was about to slip under.

“And who knows?” he continued, sultry and low. “Maybe we could finally put all that foolish pride to bed.”

_Crack._

The king stumbled backwards, eyes wide and fingers groping clumsily at the scarlet handprint that was seeping through his pale skin like blood through a cloth. My palm stung, victorious over his smart mouth and daring presumptions and the unnerving type of hypnotism that nearly kicked my feet out from under me. 

“Don’t patronize me!” I snapped, the new silence growing louder and more charged as it absorbed the anger rippling off of me in waves. “And don’t pretend to know me, because you don’t! It will be a cold day in Hell when I let _you_ , of all people, speak to me about pride.”

His face grew hard as marble, eyes boring into mine as if it would reveal something else, but I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I didn’t bother to watch him leave.

The absolute gall to point at me and cry, “Proud!” while also appointing me the living embodiment of his own shame. Best me by bedding me. Win the game while ridding himself of his morbid curiosity. His secret would die with one final, gasping thrust, and the humiliation of our association along with it. But why should I care? My own feelings were immaterial to any of this. Only a madman would believe, even for a moment, that I could ever be anything more to Cardan Greenbriar than a skeleton in his closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you like this story, please leave comments and kudos. Being validated is my fetish.


	5. Chapter 5

The girl was troublesome.

Unpredictable.

Soul-crushingly opaque.

Forever nudging me closer and closer to the sheer cliffs of my sanity.

The cruelest irony was that none of it made me any less besotted.

I wished that it would. Being so willing a hostage was nothing but an exercise in masochism, another way I punished myself for reasons that still elude me. Why did I let her goad me into these games?

Once, it was retaliation, lashing out in anger and embarrassment. First for being outmatched by a human girl, then for her palpable awareness of my secret and her need to remind me of it in such a gleefully callous manner. Now? Some sort of self-flagellation, I supposed. Being shot sounded more appealing by the day.

Jude was not unknowable, no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise. What she wasn’t was tameable. A doe might eat from your hand, but she was no deer. Even a wolf could give up its innate savagery if raised from a pup, but history showed this to have the opposite effect on her. Jude had no master. She could never. She would sooner die than face the muzzle.

Like any other fanged beast, her favor was granted sparingly and completely at her own discretion, with the ever-present possibility that a misstep could lead to the loss of a hand. And yet, I had persisted, so eager to risk a painful death purely for the honor of being allowed to live.

Because that was the only mark of favor she would grant me.

My cheek was still warm and throbbing as I stared blankly at the shimmering brocades adorning the ceiling of my bed. I didn’t care for being slapped either, though it was largely the shock of it that irked me. On further introspection, had she not done so in anger, I might have welcomed it.

My goals were nearly identical, but their respective methods were wholly counterproductive. So the question was, which did I desire more? To win, or to be let in?

I scowled and rubbed the pink smudge on my face. There was no choice; She would rather curse me for my ignorance while steadfastly refusing to educate me. And she would lie and scheme and deceive such that I could never truly trust her word anyways. She must have truly despised me to go to such lengths, all to avoid sharing any part of herself that I wouldn’t cut myself on. I might have empathized once.

_What am I to do with that?_

Nothing. There was nothing to be done. The singular option was to trudge onwards, because if I did not play her game, then I would not get to play at all.

~~*~~

Time was marked not by days or hours, but by when I saw her. Were I a stronger man, or a wiser one, I would have kept up that charade of indifference that had served me so well in months past. See her when I see her. Keep my cards close to my chest. Do not spend the waking hours wondering about her or bitterly ruminating on my circumstances. Too many rules to follow at once, so I took them in turns. 

Her expression and curt responses made no secret of her thoughts. At the same time, her heavy postures and unkempt clothes seemed to betray something else. It appeared that neither of us were at peace with the result of our last encounter. So close. So tantalizingly close to my goal, only to—what was that phrase of Vivienne’s?—“put my foot in my mouth.” And now the bell was rung, the bridge drawn, and archers lined the battlements. And she would fight to the last man.

Or she would, if she had not disappeared. All paperwork was now brought to me by messengers, and her presence at meetings lasted exactly as long as required and not a second more before she slipped out to parts unknown, smooth and silent as a shadow. That void was unsettling. Left completely to my own devices, I could have resumed my usual activities with the added benefit of avoiding commands and reprimands, but I did not. It felt wrong, making a strange punishment of doing exactly what I professed to want: to be left alone. One might think that I would be accustomed to Jude’s simmering fury by now, and I was, to a degree.

This was not that. Her absence was not made of the searing anger that blew sparks and lit her cheeks. This was ice, hard and cold and lonesome. It was one thing to be hated. Being ignored was an entirely different matter. An all-too-familiar condition of my existence that I thought was behind me. 

As I lounged reading on the velvet divan in the dark seclusion of my chambers, I discovered that I had read the same page several times and not actually retained a word of it. I snapped the slim volume shut and dumped it onto the floor beside me with a rueful huff. The door remained completely undisturbed for hours. I was not waiting for her to barge in at any moment and pick up where she left off. Nor to castigate me for something I’d willfully neglected. Nor to bring me more work. And certainly not just to see me.

Why would she not just come shout at me and end this nonsense? This was somehow much worse, and I was far too sober to handle it with any amount of grace or sense. The combined effect made me wearier and more irritable than anything else she had done, which is how I found myself standing at her door, wondering exactly what I expected to accomplish by this.

“...Jude?”

I knocked harder.

“Jude.”

Not the slightest sound of stirring came from within. My jaw tightened.

“Jude!” 

The doorknob jiggled, but was firmly locked. My forehead came to rest on the wood with a thump, and I heaved a heavy sigh. 

“Jude, let me in. Ignoring me is ridiculous and beneath you and I hate it.”

So this is what I was reduced to now, was it? A breath away from begging her to acknowledge me? Oh, how the mighty had fallen. 

My ears pricked with the sound of a little imp servant skittering past.

“You,” I said, turning to stop her. “Have you seen my senechal?” The startled creature sank into a low curtsy.

“Not since I took her dinner tray, Your Highness. She left just afterward.”

Gone? There were few places she would go in these hours, married as she was to her work. Nodding vaguely in acknowledgement, I wondered if there was any more passionate affair Jude could have than one with power. Only one other place came to mind that would host such a dalliance.

The Court of Shadows was having their own revel, it seemed. The Ghost’s braying met me long before the door to their clandestine retreat, matched only by the fluttering laughter of their pixie comrade. I loitered behind the door, hand hovering over the knob, hesitant to seek out trouble again for the second time in as many weeks. 

Anger clutched me by the throat again. It was her fault, after all. This childish new dimension to her games was what led me here, wandering about the castle in search of her like a faithful hound. 

Disgraceful. 

Resolute, I crept inside, out of sight.

“Roach, it’s your turn.”

“No, I already went. It’s yours.”

“You did?”

“Jude, you’re drunk,” laughed The Ghost.

“I am not!” A heavy clatter of thick glass on stone. “Whoops,” she giggled. “Alright, maybe a little...Don’t you laugh at me! You’ve had just as much.”

“Yes, and I told you last night that I have about a foot and a hundred pounds on you, my queen.” I bristled at the familiar and indulgent tone with which he uttered her codename. 

“I don’t remember that.”

“I figured as much. You didn’t remember most of last night.”

“Like trying to punch me,” Roach interjected.

“You were being very rude.”

“I was trying to cut you off before you spent the night clutching a bucket.”

“Which was rude.” He sighed. “You dare disrespect your queen?” she added with feigned offense.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckled. “A toast, then. To the High Queen of Elfhame, long may she reign.”

“Hear, hear.”

“While we’re on the subject,” said The Bomb. “Would His Infernal Highness like to stop lurking in the shadows now?” I froze, as did the free-flowing mirth of their company of only moments ago.

_Damn._

With great hesitation, I rounded the corner to face them all. They were playing cards around the table, with half a dozen empty wine bottles scattered about. From her rumpled bodice to the rosy flush that ran from her bare cleavage to her face, it was obvious that Jude was indeed drunk, a truly surreal image. Her spies seemed to find this all very amusing, though there was the vaguest glint of unfriendliness in the pixie’s eyes.

“Oh, don’t look so sullen. We’ve been at this far longer than you, Your Highness. Do you want in?” She nodded to the deck. “I’ve been thrashing all of them for the last hour.”

“I--”

“--No, he doesn’t.” 

Roach and Ghost exchanged looks before looking to The Bomb for some sort of guidance or clarification, but she simply rolled her eyes.

“I’ve done you a favor, haven’t I?” Jude continued dryly, picking idly through the cards in her hand. “No one to nag you or interrupt your fun. But if you’re here, I can only assume that someone is bleeding who shouldn’t be.”

Not angry, as I’d left her. Instead, something bitter and petty permeated each syllable like wormwood liquor. I half-expected a knife at my throat by this point in the conversation. It would be true to the script of our ongoing farce. She still would not look at me, and it was trying my patience.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Are we under attack?”

“Someone is,” snickered The Ghost.

“No,” I answered evenly.

“Well, then I’m out of ideas.” She groped blindly for the bottle on the floor beside her, grasped it by the neck, and took a long sip. “I think it was my turn, wasn’t it?”

“Why?” I snapped. “What is the meaning of this? You’ve avoided me for days, and now you will not even look at me. What new crime have I committed to deserve this?”

She twisted in her seat to fix me with a long, very pointed glare, and then returned her attention back to the table. Nearly as abrasive was the awareness that we were doing this with an audience. There was something very intimate about our quarrels that made this display feel akin to stripping naked in the war room. A troubling and unwelcome addition to _that_ fantasy, if there ever was one.

“Fine. I should not have come here. I can’t believe I wanted to--” Cutting myself off with a noise of disgust, I gave a dismissive wave and took my leave.

From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her sudden attention with a furrowed brow, but charged ahead regardless. This was a mistake. Whatever possessed me to seek her out, what goal I’d hoped to achieve, felt completely foreign to me now.

_You missed her, you imbecile._

The sound of smooth wood squealing against stone echoed through the passage, along with my name.

_Keep walking. Do not look back._

“Cardan, wait!”

_Hold steady._

“Stop, damn it!”

She was coming up fast behind me. Against my better judgement, I came to a halt, stopping just in time to catch her as her balance faltered. 

Feeling her body so relaxed and pliable in my arms when she seemed to be in a permanent state of tension came as another shock. The circumstances were lamentable. Not the scenario I’d imagined when I pictured her in such a state. Though she was successfully hoisted back to her feet, I doubted her ability to stay there for very long. That’s what I told myself when my arm remained securely around her waist.

Glassy doe eyes slowly journeyed upwards to meet my expectant gaze. So many different emotions passed through them, like sand through my fingers, that I could not place any one, and gave up.

“Jude?”

She set her jaw and refocused straight ahead, still fiercely clutching the hem of my shirt.

“Cardan. I'm sorry. Don’t go.”

“Tell me more lies.”

“You ass,” she said, thumping her fist feebly against my chest with all the strength of a drowsy kitten. “I hate you. So. Much.” 

“I said ‘lies,’ Jude--”

Rather than heed my request, her arms snaked around my neck and clumsily pulled me closer for a kiss.

I could not recall the last time I tasted wine on someone else’s tongue while I kept a clear head. Neither could I recall the last time Jude did anything that could even be generously described as “gentle.” And this time, it was a kiss that _she_ gave _me_ , ostensibly free of any ulterior motives. One of these was luck. Two was a coincidence. But all three? That must be a sign. Or a historical event.

Gone was the aggression of our lips last meeting, the back-and-forth of reluctance and urgency that savored of performance, though whether that was for her benefit or mine was anyone’s guess. This time her embrace felt troubled, constant and clinging as if I would try to escape the moment she let go, which did less to inspire passion in me than it did confusion and a very sober kind of heartache.

I would have been delighted to let her kiss me until dawn, to feel her tugging impatiently at my clothes, but not like this. The flickering embers of anger that still glowed in my chest were also quick to remind me that there would be no true victory in it either, though that was the least of my concerns. Reluctantly, I pulled away.

“You are without a doubt the most perplexing, impossible, downright paradoxical girl I have ever met.”

“You wouldn’t recognize me otherwise.”

“No, I suppose not.”

There was a long moment of quiet before I asked, “Jude, what is the matter?” My question fell of deaf ears.

“Kiss me some more,” she murmured. “Let me pretend a little while longer.”

Another unexpected shot to the heart.

She lifted onto her toes again, but wobbled and began to list to one side.

“Darling, I believe it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Ignoring her whines of protest, I swept her knees out from under her and lifted her into my arms. 

“Where are we going?” she yawned, laying her head against my shoulder as we made our way through the castle corridor.

“Your rooms.”

“My rooms?” She paused. “But where will my pride sleep? In your bed or mine?”

She began to laugh, while I felt another shaft land between my ribs.

_Complete and utter imbecile._

She was beginning to doze when I laid her down onto the mattress. I sat beside her, taking only her shoes. She would be uncomfortable, but I could only imagine the hellfire that would rain down upon me if I tried to relieve her of anything else.

“Where’s your tail?” she said in a sleepy murmur. “I like your tail.” I wanted to laugh, but it was hardly the most absurd thing I’d heard tonight.

“It’s right here.” The end lifted up from the sheets, as if to nod.

“Can I touch it?” 

It was more of an announcement than a request. She had already slid her fingertips along the length of it, sending a pulse of electricity shooting up my spine. I let out an involuntary hiss and flicked it out of her reach. She regarded me with a childish pout.

“Not tonight, darling,” I replied, shifting uneasily. The light was thankfully too dim for her to see my blush. “Someday, if you promise to be gentle with it.” She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

A moment later, she was fast asleep.

“I hope you do.”

As much as I wished to lay beside her, to be there when she woke to explain myself before she could hide from me again, I rose, brushing her hair aside to place a feather-light kiss on her cheek, and battled exhaustion all the way back to where I started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end, folks! Maybe things will work out for these crazy kids after all.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for your feedback! It's very encouraging. You see, I'm actually just three dumb bitches in a trenchcoat trying to sneak into the rated R movie that is this boy's pants, and if they don't get regular validation, they drink my gin and eat all my food.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why we can't have nice things.

I had the most strange and terrible and wonderful dream.

Like so often with dreams, I could only remember bits and pieces, and I wasn’t always sure of the order, but that wasn’t the strange part.

I dreamt that I fell, but Cardan caught me. I dreamt that he spoke softly to me, as if I were something precious. I dreamt that when I kissed him, his answer was sweet and inviting. I dreamt that he carried me in his arms as if I weighed no more than a dried leaf. 

As I said, terrible.

I awoke that morning more or less the same as I had the one before; hungover and cursing my existence. Trying to wish away the schedule for my day ahead. I sat up on my elbows and groaned. My hair was stuck to my face and red lines pressed into my skin where the hard seams of my clothes had constricted me in the night. My breath was atrocious, and I felt as if there wasn’t enough blood in my veins, except for what was throbbing in my head.

I should stop doing this. My work was going to suffer, and I would hate to think that I so easily fell down the same self-destructive rabbithole as the king. It was just as easy to pity myself in the quiet moments before sleep as it was to black out for an evening so someone else could do it for me. As I rubbed my temples, I wondered to myself how Cardan kept up this same pace for so long. Then I wondered why.

Planning for Taryn’s wedding and the imminent attack from Orlagh kept me busy, but not enough. I no longer had the energy to run from Cardan at every potential meeting, and it was only a matter of time before he sought me out anyways, assuming he was looking to reprise our last encounter or had recently suffered a sharp blow to the head. 

He did, of course.

Find me, that is. Not become concussed. Although depending on the direction this took, I was prepared to rectify that.

He didn’t bother to knock. He slithered into my chambers at some point while I was engrossed in something else, leaning against the wall beside the door to study me carefully, picking me apart with his eyes. My attention left the pages in front of me for only a second to cast him a look. An acknowledgement of his presence and a warning against whatever mischief or mayhem he’d brought with him.

It was exceptionally distracting. It was hard enough to banish him from my thoughts when he wasn’t near, something I’d spent several days trying to achieve with mixed success. It was easier when I was only angry with him. Those false memories were far too loud. The longer he stood there, the harder I tried to drown them both out, and the more amplified they became. The images grew into a silent cacophony that made the pain in my head spike, until I could tolerate being watched no longer.

“What is it?” I huffed. He looked at me another moment before shrugging.

“You seem...unwell.”

“Headache,” I replied tersely, but I knew I couldn’t hide the half moons forming under my eyes.

“Late night?”

_ Why yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve spent the last few nights testing the limits of my liver because I want to put my fist through a window every time I see your awful, smug face. How kind of you to ask. _

“Plans for Oak are taking more of my time than expected.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He was still regarding me with quiet suspicion, as though he knew I was lying. Only a half-lie, really. But rather than call me out, he merely grunted and lifted himself from the wall.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need my assistance, do hesitate to ask.” So nonchalant, so effortlessly indifferent. It almost made me miss the more obnoxious parts of his personality.

At least he was gone without incident. I would not need to waste precious time draped over a chair trying to recover from humming skin and snide remarks. What I couldn’t determine was why he appeared in the first place.

This game was a mistake, a glaring miscalculation where I couldn’t afford one. It wasn’t until I was confronted with the reality of the situation, over and over and over again, that I finally conceded that I did not have control and that I did not have the skill nor the fortitude to make Cardan my plaything. Nor was I convinced that was what I wanted. He turned the tables and exposed me as the weak and foolish girl that I was. One who did not realize she had fallen for him until her hand was singing with the sharp impact of his skin.

My heart’s reckless desire was firmly out of reach, but that did not mean that I must sacrifice my dignity or my sanity on his altar. If I could survive a decade spent in this cruel kingdom, then I could survive this as well. Even if it meant turning my heart to ice.

The dream haunted me in a way that none of the others did, so persistent and vivid that my focus had begun to slip. Other dreams were simpler to handle. Rage and lust were familiar to me in a way that sincere affection was not. They were easy to process and then dismiss, and part of me enjoyed that rush that my hours at a desk could not provide. This dream was a scrap of gristle tossed at a hungry dog that was far too grateful for it. It irritated me to no end. 

Somewhat counterintuitively, the more smoothly the day of the wedding went, the more anxious I became. Everything was too beautiful, too easy, too...happy. Such felicity was scarce, and most often came with a hidden cost. I did not expect this day to be different. I only hoped that bloodshed would not be part of it.

Vivi urged me to relax now that the most difficult part was over, but it was no use. My hands itched. My leg jiggled in my seat. It wasn’t long before I decided to put my slyfooting to good use and disappear into the gardens. Perhaps it was a bit ridiculous to stalk the grounds of my freshly-minted brother-in-law’s estate, looking like a guard in a silk dress, but it was what I knew best.

Which is why my surprise did not turn to relief when I whirled about at the sound of a snapping twig, only to find Cardan within arm’s reach and looking back at me with amusement.

“Is this it? The night you finally stab me?"

Once my heart restarted, I rolled my eyes and slid my knives back into their hiding places with a sigh.

“What are you doing here?” 

“You commanded me not to be alone tonight, did you not?” he replied, raising an eyebrow and gesturing to me. “I am no longer alone.”

“I meant guards or The Ghost or...someone.” He gave a short laugh in his throat.

“Funnily enough, as often as you threaten me, I trust you to keep me from harm better than any of them.” I could only blink back at him. “Yes, I was shocked as well. Though I suppose regicide would make for a much more memorable ending to the evening.” My mouth curled into a frown.

“You shouldn’t make light.”

“The possibility of a sudden and unpleasant death looms over my head every day, Jude. I have no choice but to laugh.”

He said it with a thoughtful smile that struck me with an unwanted pang of guilt. There would be no sword of Damocles without my deception. I still stood by my reasons. It was easier to label his tomfoolery and general disregard for the throne as a mere continuation of his life before it. Not the hiding place of a frightened immortal boy learning about the creeping terror of mortality. I briefly recalled his scathing comments about my own, but his admission kept my mouth shut. Being as well acquainted with the feeling as I was, I could not wish that on him.

“Come.” He offered his arm, which tugged my gaze from the grass. “I need some air.”

I tentatively accepted. 

Strange. Cardan took to the thick, choking fog of revelry like a fish to water. Until that point, I was under the impression that he similarly couldn’t live without it.

Stranger was the calm that settled over me as we strolled the grounds with few words between us. Comfortably quiet in a way that circled back again to uncomfortable due to the sheer foreignness of the experience. And with Cardan, no less. Just taking in the breeze and the clear stars above, my most consistent companions in this fractured existence, almost better known to me than my own family. 

And then there was this boy, a constant source of frustration and misplaced aching whose presence I generally resented as much as I groped blindly for it. The one with the power to break me apart into pieces and put them back together in such a nonsensical fashion that somehow still made sense. I was carelessly wandering a world that was not made for me, too entranced to wonder if I could ever return to the world as it was before. Or if I would.

He finally spoke. “Oak is safe, I trust?”

“Vivi collected him. He should be with Oriana until he has to return to the mortal world.” He nodded. “She may not be much of a mother to me, but she adores him. It’s unfair to have to keep them apart.”

“Such devotion to a child who isn’t even her own flesh and blood,” he mused, gazing up at the waning crescent moon.

“Blood or not, he’s our brother. We love him.” His thoughtful stare into the sky turned to a sad smile.

“He is very fortunate.”

“He deserves better than all of this.” The words broke his focus, and he fixed me with a curious look. But I couldn’t look at him. “Spending years balancing on the blade of a knife, praying you’ll live long enough to one day step down. It’s a curse I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies.”

“Then let us not be enemies.”

“Is that what we are?” The words came out quietly, sounding more shy and uncertain than I expected. The sudden relief of cool air on my face was a sign of the rising warmth in my skin. 

“I’m not sure there is a word for what we are.”

“Maybe in German, though it would be eight syllables long or have too many consonants to pronounce.” That earned me a soft chuckle. His remaining hand slid over mine where it rested on his bicep. 

We came to a stop in a peaceful corner of Locke’s impeccably tended gardens--his singular redeeming quality. Briar and cabbage roses rose from behind squat hedges of boxwood, the calls of owls and crickets crowding out the other music. To my begrudging disappointment, he dropped his arm.

“I mean it,” he finally said. He turned to face me, too close for safety and too far for comfort. “I am tired of being alone, Jude.”

I hated the melancholy in his voice. I hated that it was there at all, but I also hated what it did to me. For the life of me, I could not ignore the nagging voice in my head that reminded me to be wary of him, that deceit was in his blood and that he was aware of what he could do to me. I would much rather slam the door in its face and give in to the feeling of his fingers sliding delicately down my arm or the lock of hair being tucked behind my ear.

_ This is another trick. Another strategic move to force your surrender. And it’s working. _

But I was tired of being alone, too. For too long I’d been grasping for power, for safety, for some modicum of happiness, only to find myself bereft of real friends and true allies. Even here, amid the wild and breathtaking beauty of this land, sharing the night with this terrible boy who I’d grown to care for against my better judgement, my hand was never far from a knife.

So two choices laid before me: I would continue down this long and dusty path to nowhere in particular, or I could believe him.

“So am I.”

A flash of something in his eyes. Not the same black I’d seen so many times before, like pitch and shame and secrets. No, this was the color of the night sky, of understanding that was both blind and mute. Daring. Tactile. The hand that was hovering over my shoulder suddenly cupped my jaw, carefully but not gently, guiding me forward and meeting in the middle with a crash. 

There was something eerie about this kiss. Unlike those that came before it, it did not taste of wine, nor of anger or frustration or petty deception. It was the first that felt like a real kiss. Was this how first kisses were supposed to feel? Like the floor had fallen out from under your feet and he was the only thing keeping you there? Our grip on each other only seemed to confirm it. Clinging to each other by hair and hips and delicate fabric that threatened to give way under the strain.

The wanting turned from sweet to hasty, from mouths on mouths to tongues and teeth on whatever skin was available. He began slavishly devouring my throat as if it were coated in honey. There would be marks tomorrow, no doubt.

There came a spike of inebriated cheers and laughter from over the maze and into the garden that made me start. Cardan gave an almost inaudible whine when we parted. I scanned our surroundings for assassins or onlookers and thankfully found nothing. I then became very aware of the fact that my bodice was imperiled, worked lower and lower that it now clung to modesty like a man to a cliff’s edge. He seemed to intuit my concern, because it took only a quick glance before he was tugging at my wrist to disappear under the curtain of an elderly willow tree.

No sooner had I crossed the threshold of its parted leaves than I was seized by the waist once again and crushed between the trunk and his body. His gorgeous body. There were a few brief glimpses of his sculpted chest and stomach before under odd or fraught circumstances with no opportunity for admiration that wouldn’t be mortifyingly obvious. My mouth set to work on his neck in search of that little morsel of flesh that, as I still recalled so vividly, was the key to his unraveling. An excellent distraction while I urgently fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Lilac bruises bloomed on his skin, marking all charted territory. 

Good. Let it serve as a reminder, as irrefutable proof that this was not another dream.

The clever boy’s brains must have turned to mush. It wasn’t until the last button slipped free that he seemed to catch on, fighting me to tug the laces of my dress while I tried to tug the silk shirt from his shoulders. He won a sharp bite for his obstinance.

“ _ Mmmph.” _

A strangled sob caught in his throat that sent my blood racing. What a dizzying sound, a worthy accompaniment to the music of crickets and the fluttering wings of bats. If only I would ever hear it again after the sun rose.

Now was not the time to think about that. So long as I had him in my hands, he was mine. For once, I would not ruin something with forethought. Better yet, let’s not think at all. It took very little effort once his torso was bare with mine to follow shortly. An expanse of smooth, milky skin draped over thick muscled shoulders that begged to be touched. 

As did I. Almost. 

But I would not. Cardan might hear a great many things from me tonight, but begging would not be one of them. Not ever. 

Curiously, his touch remained careful, caressing only places that he would have held any dance partner, as if I wasn’t half naked already and as if he wasn’t already predisposed to downright lascivious behavior in front of half his court. There was already a veritable avalanche of evidence to the contrary.

_ What the hell is he waiting for? A messenger sparrow to swoop down and sing the invitation to him? _

And so I did what I always do. I took initiative.

I grabbed him by the hem of his pants, jerking him forward to press his hips flush with mine and pairing it with an open kiss, fierce and wet and filthy. He groaned and his knees buckled, but he did not recover his balance, stumbling backwards onto the ground and taking me with him.

The interruption granted us a moment to notice our ragged breathing. A moment for air that felt wholly unnecessary. Instead, I watched him drink me in, stopping to linger where I straddled his thighs, legs peeking out from under my bunched up skirts. His dark eyes were heavy and wondrous and borderline obscene and so very, very different from anything I saw before. I hated how much I liked looking at them. How beautiful he looked beneath me in the soft grass, boneless and wanting. 

One hand traveled slowly down his body as if it had a mind of its own, landing unexpectedly over the solid arousal that so clearly ached to be free. Given the circumstances, there should not have been anything unexpected about it, but it took me by surprise regardless. And judging by the harsh curse that flew from between his teeth, I was not the only one. I stilled and so did he.

“W-we need not--”

“--Shut.  _ Up. _ Cardan,” I growled in his ear. 

“...Is that a command?” 

So the boy could be taught after all. I pushed up, bracing myself on my hands on either side of his head to look upon the sly curve of his swollen lips.

“No. Right now, your mouth is much more useful when it’s open.” His breath hitched. “But do not interrupt me like that again unless you actually want to stop. That  _ is _ a command.”

He swallowed thickly and gave an obedient nod. A quick brush of my thumb along the length served to further bolster my ruling, and a satisfying hiss was his reply. It had been far too long since I could smirk at his expense. And then it was wiped away when his hand found my breast, kneading gently and kissing up my sternum and along the curve before finally taking it in his mouth.

That was new. Almost painfully electric. A sound, a high, breathy moan, rang in my ears. It sounded too strange to be my voice, but was mine nonetheless. A reprise followed every slurp and swirl of his tongue until my arms began to shake, no longer able to hold my weight over him. 

Weakness. I’d come to accept the cracks in what was once an iron will. But now the strength of my body was failing me too, and I had Cardan to thank for all of it. He held the power to destroy me so easily if he wanted to. Or when. And I allowed it.

When I opened my eyes again, he was waiting for me. His gaze locked with mine, crinkling into a devious smile that made my stomach flip. Suddenly, I was being rolled onto my back, the sky and a wolfishly grinning boy now above me. Inky curls hung about his face, the crown discarded in the grass long ago. I always thought that hearts broke all at once, like a porcelain vase tumbling to the floor and shattering into a thousand pieces. Not by so many tiny, imperceptible fractures. 

“Does this qualify as ‘interrupting’?”

“It will if you don’t shut up and kiss me again.”

That only made him smile wider. A new kind of smugness. Not wishing to draw my ire again, he resumed sucking and listening to all the lewd, involuntary noises I made. The back of his hand brushed against my inner thigh, making a terribly slow journey upwards.

He gave an arduous swipe of his fingers, making a long, satisfied noise when they came back drenched. This was better than my dream or anything I’d imagined, especially when his tentative exploration turned to rubbing and stroking with his thumb. And then a finger inside me. Then two. In and out as an agonizingly slow pace. All the while my voice rose another octave.

Far, far better.

I couldn’t recall him ever being so dedicated to a single task. If half this amount of attention was put towards ruling, I would have slept soundly every night that he sat the throne. I never thought him capable, except perhaps to drinking himself into oblivion. Not that I would have cause to see it. A likely reason that he had toured the bedchambers of so many courtiers. I tried to seal that prickly thought elsewhere for now. Enjoy the sensation of Cardan stoking the flames under my skin and let it burn me down to ash and bones.

My breath was coming out in stuttering gasps. I ground myself into his hand, desperately seeking just a little more, enough to give me what I wanted, but always just barely coming up short. Of course he’d found a way to tease me without speaking.

“Cardan…” 

“Mmm?”

I whined again and began tugging helplessly on the laces of his pants, too breathless and addled to achieve any real success. It should not have been that difficult. If the solid need I found there was any indication, I was not the only one who was desperate to set him loose. A laugh rumbled deep in his chest.

“No, darling Jude. You must tell me what you want. I want to hear it.”

“Bastard.”

I clamored for his laces again, but he caught my hand and pinned it down. He was frustrating and completely infuriating in every other aspect of his life, so I don’t know why I expected this to be the exception. No matter how hard I struggled, he would not relent. 

“Jude,” he purred, his hot breath on my throat.

Just when I thought I was nearing the limits of his torture, his fingers curled inside me and I cried out. He was holding me captive knowing full well how close I was. No doubt he was enjoying this. Watching me writhe and moan, sprawled out under him and on the verge of begging. I was almost prepared to forgive him if he would just kiss me.

“You,” I blurted out, my eyes squeezed shut. “I want you.”

That was the incantation. He looked at me, eyes blown and grinning, and then seized my mouth with his own. I held him there roughly by the hair, determined not to let him stop kissing me for anything. We could have drawn a crowd and become the next entertainment at the revel for all I cared.

The hot wetness pooling on my thigh told of greater patience in this boy than I imagined, too. Was it actually patience, or was denying himself that thrilling? Or denying me? I groped blindly again for the hem of his pants to find them already tugged below his hips. Velvet softness over steel rutted almost pitifully against me as he made equally pitiful sounds against my lips. I couldn’t stand it any longer. My hand curled carefully around the shaft before guiding it to its target.

He groaned into my mouth as he filled me to the hilt before becoming very still and resting his forehead to mine. That sound was going to kill me, if not the throbbing in my core. In a strange moment of boldness, I reached for his ass and pulled him into me, an urgent plea to keep going. His stifled moan broke into a chuckle.

“So impatient. I need only a moment.”

“Wouldn’t want to sully your reputation.” 

He sent me a dry look and retaliatory thrust, smirking when it forced a moan from my lips. And then the wait was over and my mouth was suddenly occupied again. Most likely to stave off any additional commentary, because every twitch of his cock was proof that my voice alone was not the problem.

There were three rules that went unspoken, not even considered in my own mind, because I never suspected that I would need them. But that kind of assumption was a dangerous game.

Number one: Do not befriend Cardan.

Number two: Do not bed Cardan

And most importantly:

Number three: Do not fall in love with Cardan.

None of that mattered right now. There was only the hot press of his bare skin against mine. The full, heavy, aching rhythm that made me arch against him, always wanting more. It was too much and not enough all at once. What I needed most was to truly, finally, lose myself in it.

I could feel the muscles in his back growing rigid, his breathing ragged, the motion more careful and controlled. But I did not need control. I needed more. Thought and reason were clouded by the roiling tension building in my belly. I was past the point of caring about something so inconsequential as that.

“Harder,” I pleaded, softly enough that only he could hear.

_ Fuck me as if you mean it. _

He swore and buried his face in my neck, devoting himself entirely to the unrelenting pace I demanded of him. I tore at his flesh with my nails as he pounded me into the grass like a stake. His efforts were handsomely rewarded with a string of moans and curses of my own as I tipped over the edge, brilliant shocks of white briefly clouding parts of my vision. He took that as permission for himself, his entire body shuddering and unleashing a moan more pained and unearthly than I thought possible. He rode it out with a few more scattered thrusts before collapsing and rolling onto the ground beside me, sweat clinging to his skin like glitter. Panting and looking more beautiful than ever.

I was not prepared for the wave of emotions that crashed over me all at once. Elation. Exhaustion. Confusion. Apprehension. Hysteria. It was perhaps best summarized by a single thought:

_ What the hell are you doing? _

I would have giggled would it have not made me look completely insane. Maybe I was insane. What I wanted was to curl into his side and lay there until something forced us to move. I wanted to stare unabashedly and comb through his hair with my fingers. I wanted to kiss him again, without the smokescreen of pent up lust.

Which was exactly why I needed to go.

A lock of my hair slipped from between his fingers when I sat up. He looked almost disappointed, his blank face but curious eyes watching me as I started putting myself back together. I tried not to look at him too closely again, because I knew that if I did I wouldn’t leave.

We dressed in palpable silence. My heartbeat had still not returned to normal.

“So I suppose you’ve won,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You got what you wanted. I conceded defeat. You got this out of your system, and now there is nothing stopping you from doing whatever you want. Two birds with one stone.”

He recoiled, his face as wrought with dismay as if I had slapped him a second time. 

“Do you think me so completely heartless? Have I truly been your villain for so long that you forget what I really am? As if you had not seen pieces of me that I reveal to no one?” I opened my mouth to retort, but he swiftly raised a hand to silence me. “And do not pretend that this is merely because I have been difficult or unruly. I once believed that this game of yours was just another reminder of your power, but now I see that it was far more personal. Retribution for the endless list of ways that I have wronged you. You wish to inflict pain, and you have. In abundance.”

“And you haven’t?” I said. “Do you have any idea how many years of my life have been spent in tears or drying someone else’s because of you? How many times I feared for my life, purely for your amusement? And still I am an amusement to you. ‘Difficult’ indeed!’” 

No, I would not cry.

“Then how am I to atone for it?”

I had no answer for him. He chuffed bitterly.

“I thought so,” he said. “There is no penance you would accept. You would spend your short tenure on earth fighting and toying with me rather than believe I am not as false and wicked as you thought.” He turned away from me and his voice became very quiet. “Were you not so determined to smother even the smallest possibility of friendship between us, I could have provided you proof enough of a beating heart.”

The stabbing sensation that struck me in the chest might have been an assassin’s knife for all the pain it caused me. He said nothing else, but secured the remaining buttons of his shirt.

We should have called a truce long ago, before I allowed things to get so out of hand. It would have been so simple. It was only a matter of a few words. The offer alone would have sated me. Not a surrender, but a ceasefire. A fragile agreement to end hostilities. Instead, we wounded each other over and over again with no end in sight. There might have been something worthwhile beneath all of the deception and the insults. 

But now it was ruined. 

“Jude?” 

The Ghost’s panicked voice called out over the lawn. My heart dropped into my stomach. I shoved my feet back into my shoes and darted out to meet him. Cardan only brushed the curtain of willow leaves aside enough to watch.

“Jude! There’s been an attack!” 

“What? Where?"

“The Tower of Forgetting. We must go at once!”

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind all at once. I wanted to escape this miniature hell I’d gotten myself into, but it felt wrong, even given the news. What could I possibly say that would mend the damage? What could he say that would ever placate the beast within me, longing for retribution? I felt completely and utterly lost.

The Ghost took off in a sprint and I followed. My legs had still not entirely recovered. Though I was overcome with dread and shock, I spared one last look over my shoulder.

Cardan’s expression was hard as stone. He stared back at me, fist clenched at his side. And the ice in his eyes had begun to melt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to post. As I'm sure you're aware, the world has been especially spooky lately and it made my brain no do the words good.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, as well as the kudos and comments! You all made the end of my 2020 so much better.


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